A Change of Scenery
by becca85
Summary: Mac is in the process of hiring another CSI and finds a candidate with a dark past.
1. The File

**A/N: I don't know what it is, but whenever I'm having writer's block, I find that watching CSI:NY always jogs my creative juices. Unfortunately, this time around, it took me halfway through season three (in the midst of my annual CSI:NY marathon) before the muse came around, but now I have jotted down at least half a dozen ideas that I am going to be working on. Most of them will be one-shots or at least under five chapters (like this one...I'm thinking 2 or 3 chapters), but I do have one idea that I am going to baby and hopefully turn it into a nice-sized story. **

**I do have to admit that when I wrote the paragraph that talks about yawning, I yawned no less than five times. (Look! There I go again!) If you choose to review, tell me if the simple act of talking about yawns caused you to yawn yourself (and again!) and how many times. I just think it's a funny phenomenon (and again!).**

**This story was born during the episode **_**The Lying Game**_** (3x14) when Mac made the comment "And the only survivor as I remember." As was evident throughout the season and with Mac's comment, I believe Mac was the only one who knew about Lindsay's past prior to this episode. I decided to run with that comment.**

**As for timeline, this story takes place before Aiden is fired, but only **_**just **_**before (i.e. somewhere in between the end of 1x23 and the middle of 2x02)**

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own any of the characters or ideas created by Anthony Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn and Ann Donahue. I borrowed them for the entertainment and amusement of my audience.**

**SUMMARY: Mac is in the process of hiring another CSI and finds a candidate with a dark past.**

**GENRE: Drama**

**RATING: PG-13**

**DATE: March 17, 2011**

**::~*~::**

Mac rifled through the thick manila folders on his desk. Applicant files that he had requested from the human resources department the week before. He was loathe to admit it, but crime in Manhattan had steadily been on the rise for the past few months and he was now confronted with the task of finding, not one, but two additional crime scene investigators. Both of the crime scene teams needed at least one more member to help take on the ever increasing work created by the rise. It wasn't until Stella had given him a tongue-lashing two weeks prior after she had caught him trying to work through the voluminous piles of paperwork single-handed that he had finally admitted defeat and agreed to look into hiring more personnel.

Even after that "wake-up call" from Stella, Mac had still put off looking through the applicants. He had no idea where the money to hire two more CSIs was going to come from. The NYPD was already dangerously close to their budget line as it was and they were only halfway through the year. Mac was finally spurred into action when an investigator from Detective Gates' team almost decked a lab tech in the wee hours of the morning, forcing Mac to admit that he couldn't hold off any longer. Everyone was running strictly on caffeine and four hours or less of sleep. Tempers were running high and next time Mac might not be so lucky to count on Flack being close enough to break up a budding riot.

He ran a hand over his eyes, trying to rub the exhaustion and frustration from them to no avail. A small part of him told him to grab the files and take them home, to peruse them over a nice microwaved dinner and a glass of wine, instead of at the lab where any moment an employee could pop in and break his concentration. He couldn't do it. With his streak of luck so far, the moment he stepped onto the elevator and out of sight, he knew that all hell would break loose. It was only due to his presence of authority that kept everyone in check, though on edge. He exhaled a deep sigh of frustration and went to grab the top folder.

Movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to Stella's passing presence in the hall. Ignoring the voice in the back of his head that was asking what she was still doing here at this time of night, he caught her eye and beckoned her in. Gesturing to the pile in front of him, he waited for her to close the door to his office behind her. "Care to help me sift through these?"

She studied the pile with an appraising eye and then focused her attention on the man reclining behind the desk. "You've finally admitted that I'm right and we need more help around here?"

He gave her a wry smile as he pulled the top folder into his grasp and flipped it open, barely glancing at it. "It's something I've known for several months now, but I have no idea where the funding to hire will come from. Any ideas?" His eyes drifted down to the folder in his hand and after scanning it for a moment, he tossed it back onto his desk. Stella, meanwhile, had grabbed a handful off the top and taken up position in the seat across from Mac's desk. Opening the first one, she studied it, absentmindedly replying, "Maybe we should tell the traffic cops to bump up their ticket quota for the next couple of months."

Mac cracked a small smile. "While a noble idea, I don't think that's going to cut it."

"It was worth a shot."

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, weeding out the applicants that didn't offer anything to the team and setting aside the potential candidates in a pile that would be given intense scrutiny by Mac before his decision was made. Mac had complete faith in Stella's opinion on the applicants. She knew him better than he knew himself sometimes and he knew that she would only stick with people that fit his profile of a worthy candidate for the lab.

Two hours and much small talk later, the original pile had ceased to exist and two piles stood in its stead. The only pile Mac cared about now was the pile that held a dozen or so folders in it. Stella tossed the last folder onto the "No" pile and, seeing that there were no more waiting to be looked at, she got to her feet and stretched her aching muscles while attempting to suppress a yawn. As with most yawns, the contagious nature of them flew across the room and infected Mac. As he covered his mouth, he felt the fatigue that he had been keeping at bay all day finally creeping up on him. He got to his feet and pulled his jacket off of the coat rack in the corner of the office, unaware that Stella was watching him critically through suspicious eyes. As he turned back around, he went to grab the small stack of folders only to have Stella rush forward and slam her hand down on the stack. Years of military training and combat in the Marines had worked its magic on Mac and he didn't even flinch, even though he was sure the slammed hand had echoed loudly outside of the office, possibly causing a few upraised eyebrows in whatever personnel were still in the labs.

"Oh, no you don't!" Stella exclaimed. "You are going home and going straight to bed. You are absolutely forbidden to take these folders from this office. There's no harm in leaving them overnight and you look like you haven't seen a bed in days."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she refused to back down, meeting his glare with one equally challenging. They stood in this silent standoff for a couple of minutes before Mac sighed in resignation. The woman had a will of iron! "Fine."

She took her hand off the desk and placed her hands on her hips in what she hoped was an intimidating pose. "I'll be in front of the elevator in five minutes and I better see you there, sans folders, in that amount of time. I _will_ make sure you leave here without them." Her tone of voice left no room for argument. Without even waiting for a protest from him, she turned on her heel and left the room, moving in the direction of the locker room.

Mac couldn't help grinning at her retreating back. He knew that his authoritative manner often put the fear of God in many of the lab techs who worked for him in the crime lab, but Stella was definitely the only person who could make him feel like a schoolboy who had just been caught with a pair of scissors in one hand and a detached braid of hair in the other.

He was on his way to the door, when a folder that had fallen onto the floor under his desk, spilling its contents, caught his eye. He picked it up and turned it over in order to see the name on the tab. _Lindsay Monroe._ He flipped it open to see if it was one that he had looked at or not, but hadn't even gotten through reading the basic personal info when he felt an icy chill run down his spine. It was the type of chill that comes when someone is shooting daggers from the ocular region. Sure enough, when he looked up he saw Stella glaring at him through the glass walls of his office. She had her arms folded tightly across her chest and her purse hanging off her right shoulder to rest at her hip. She did not look amused. Shrugging sheepishly, he tossed the folder onto the small pile and made a mental note to check it in the morning.


	2. The Letter

**A/N: I apologize for the long pause between the first chapter and this one. My muse ran away with me on another CSI:NY fanfic that I am hoping to post here on FF soon. It's 27 pages and 14 chapters right now, but I need to get a little farther along before I feel comfortable enough to start posting it. BUT, I ended up stuck in rut on it, so I moved back to this story. It was originally supposed to have a lot more detail, but it would kind of overrun another fanfic idea I had, so I decided to tone it down. I only anticipate two more chapters after this one and then it should be done. Enjoy this chapter and stay tuned for more A/N's at the end of this chapter.**

**::~*~::**

Contrary to his plans to spend more time looking over the applicant folders the next morning, Mac was rerouted to a crime scene on his way into the office. A middle-aged, Caucasian woman had been found in a Dumpster with strangulation marks around her neck. Mac had no patience for criminals of any kind, but he was quite disgusted by those who threw out bodies like they were no more than a common bag of trash. That was one of the highest forms of disrespect to a body that Mac could countenance. By the time he returned to the lab, he was in a foul mood. He sent his kit full of evidence off with Danny to start running tests on while he went into his office to take a breather. He told Danny to give him thirty minutes and then he'd be back to help run trace.

Mac collapsed into his chair and sipped the black coffee he had brought in from the break room. He had foregone his usual sugar in his hurry to just retreat to his office and let the caffeine wake him up and calm his mood. As he went to put his mug down, his eyes fell on the name _Lindsay Monroe_ that was poking out from under a sheaf of forms that had been placed on his desk after he had left the previous night. Pushing the forms off to the side, he pulled out the file and opened it up, all the while drinking his coffee.

_Lindsay Diane Monroe. Age: 24. Only child. Graduated with honors from Michigan State University with a degree in forensic science. Started working at the Bozeman crime lab immediately upon graduation after working summer internships throughout college. _Mac's lips silently moved as he read through the application and attached résumé. He was liking this Lindsay Monroe more and more as he went on. Her professors at Michigan State and her supervisors at the Bozeman lab all had glowing comments about her work ethic and job performance and highly recommended her to any crime lab.

Turning to the next page, Mac discovered a letter of introduction from said applicant. Taking another sip of his coffee, he settled back into the chair and started reading.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_My name is Lindsay Diane Monroe and I am your future crime scene investigator. _Mac smiled at the introductory sentence. Such confidence was always a positive; as long as it didn't become excessive and cloud judgment. _You probably want to know a little bit more about me as I will shortly start working for you. _There's that confidence again, plus a light, conversational tone that Mac found himself enjoying as a contrast to the traditional introductory letters he had read in the past. Of course, lightheartedness was welcomed in their field as long as it was tasteful and appropriate. _I was born and raised in the Midwest, which I understand may provide both positive and negative aspects to my working for you. _Mac wasn't sure what she meant by that. _My techniques may prove rustic and my disposition weathered, but I know that my unique personality and background will add a much needed outlook on your big city investigations._

_I'm an only child, but I've always worked well with others. I've been an honor student throughout my educated life, excelling specifically in the scientific fields. I've always been fascinated with criminal investigation during my childhood, enjoying the fictional shows on television, crime novels and the occasional murder story that hit the newspapers, whether local or from neighboring cities. I would always try and solve the mystery before the detectives did. My success rate was around 40%, a figure I was always quite pleased with. _

_As I grew older, my fascination with science and criminology deepened and I took classes in school that could help me further my interests. I developed the desire to become a crime scene investigator when I was ten-years-old and discovered my beloved golden retriever dead. I was bound and determined to figure out how and why (and I did). When I entered high school for my freshman year, all students were required to meet with a counselor. Taking one quick look at my middle school class schedules and where I excelled was all the counselor needed to hand me an application and information on Michigan State. She said Michigan State was one of the top schools for forensic science majors and if I was absolutely certain this was the field I wanted to work in, she would help me achieve it. _Mac flipped through the reference letters included with the application and quickly found a letter from Stacy Burnett, a counselor from Bozeman High School. He turned back to the letter.

_I thought that my desire to enter the criminology field was a passionate part of my life at this time, but I soon discovered that it was nothing compared to the desire I had for it when I thought I forever lost my chance at it. _Mac had a distinct feeling that the lighthearted tone of the letter had just evaporated. _What I am about to relate has probably already been revealed through a background check by your human resources department, so I would like to have my chance to explain the event and why it decidedly fueled my desire to continue my focus on criminology, so much so that I graduated from high school one year early and immediately started at Michigan State. _A deep foreboding filled his chest. He was saved the trouble of continuing when a knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts.

Danny, once he had received Mac's nod, opened the door and came in, a manila folder under his arm. He looked uneasily at the applicant folders piled on the desk, before recollecting his reason for visiting Mac's office. "Is now a good time?"

"I'm assuming you're here about our vic?"

"Yeah, when Hawkes started prepping the body for autopsy, he found the vic's ID tucked into her bra. Chad ran down the ID and got the background story on the vic. Name is Veronica Harris. 33 years old. Resident of NYC for four years. Lived in Chicago prior to that. Works as an office manager for a law firm. Single mother with two kids, ages 8 and 5." Danny hesitated before finishing his recitation. "Jordan Harris was killed in a car accident in Chicago four years ago, most likely coinciding with his wife's desire to relocate soon after. We haven't been able to locate next of kin."

Mac straightened up in his chair, thoughts of Lindsay Monroe's application momentarily forgotten. "Have we been able to locate the kids?"

"Chad's working on that now."

"Let me know the minute you get a location." No purse had been found at the scene, so the first impression had been a mugging gone bad, but if there were kids involved... Mac didn't even want to think about how much worse everything may have just become if it had turned into a kidnapping.

"Sure thing, Mac." Danny turned to leave, tucking the folder under his arm again, but he stopped at the door. He turned back to Mac. "Hey, um—" he started. Mac looked up, eyes focused on Danny. Danny seemed to lose his nerve, instead mumbling, "Never mind." He practically fled the office, almost colliding with a passing tech. Mac stared after him in confusion and then shook his head. As if things weren't tense enough in the lab, Danny was still walking on eggshells around him.

He picked up Lindsay's letter again and continued. He'd have a talk with Danny as soon as he got the lab straightened out.

_During my sophomore year of high school, my life was turned completely upside down. On the night of May 22, 1997 three friends of mine and a waitress were brutally murdered in a caf__é. I was only fifteen and I'm only alive because I made a split-second decision to wash my hands in the restroom, seconds before it happened. Even now, nine years later, it's still incredibly painful to think about. Forgive me for choosing not to elaborate further, but I will be completely upfront about everything that happened if you request to know more. That event truly fueled my passion for my chosen career. I swore that I would do my part to put those people behind bars that seek to infringe upon the rights of others, no matter how minor or how serious. Prior to this, I was seeking a lab technician position within the criminal forensics field, but after this I decided I wanted to be the one arresting the suspects when my evidence found them guilty._

Mac rubbed his chin in contemplation. His warm feelings towards Lindsay's application had cooled slightly, though through no fault of hers. The recommendations and reference letters that had been included spoke so highly of Lindsay and her dedication to her field, and they were all written after the incident in high school. By all accounts she sounded like the perfect candidate to fill one of the positions he had open, quite possibly the one on his own team, but something was chewing at the back of his mind. He was always hesitant when it came to applicants with tragic backgrounds like hers. It was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, a tragedy like that turned out amazing individuals who had burning passions that fueled their energy when working towards a goal. On the other hand, a tragedy like that could drive an individual to do whatever it took to ensure justice was served, even if the methods weren't entirely legal. From what Mac had read so far, Lindsay sounded like the former, but there was also a big difference between working in a small city and working in a big one.

_I believe this will be an excellent opportunity for me to broaden my horizons and sharpen my skills. I feel that I have learned everything Montana forensics has to teach me and I have always had a certain fondness for the big city. I definitely feel that the experience I can gain working with your team would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for myself and for your team. _

Mac closed the folder, having finished reading through it. He wasn't going to make a decision until he had a chance to look over the other applications, but he also needed time to digest the information he had just received. Lindsay sounded like the perfect candidate, but he needed to be absolutely sure before he acted. He got to his feet and lay the application back down on the pile he had to peruse. Grabbing his suit jacket from the coat rack, he shrugged it on and stepped out of his office.

Maybe he would have Stella look it over and get her opinion.

**::~*~::**

**A/N: A few notes that relate to events from this chapter:**

**One, when I first had this idea in mind (of Mac looking at Lindsay's application), it was initially supposed to be set a little earlier in the first season and was going to have Mac considering terminating Danny's employment after the cases as shown in **_**Crime & Misdemeanor**_** and **_**On the Job**_**. In that setup, Mac would have been looking at Lindsay as a replacement for Danny instead of another addition to the team (which is what the story is setup as) or as a replacement for Aiden (which is where the show actually went). This explains Danny's reaction to the applications on the desk. **

**Two, the case that I threw in for good measure is not meant to be the focus of the story, obviously, so it won't be solved, unless I mention it in passing. That's only if I drag this story out longer than I am presently planning on it.**

**Three, as I mentioned in my other recent fanfic, titled "The Day Before," Mac is an enigma to me and no matter how much I try and keep him in character, he keeps getting out of it. So, I apologize if his characterization seems off. I did try. **

**Next, there was a method I had to figuring out Lindsay's age. I estimated Lindsay to be about fifteen when the murders happened and in **_**The Lying Game**_**, it was mentioned that it had happened ten years prior. **_**The Lying Game **_**was in season three which means, since she was hired in season two, the gap would only be nine years at the time of hire. Now do the math...**

**Lastly, I'm pretty darn sure that my "introductory letter" was about as far off as it can be if it was legit. I don't recall ever having to write one, so I just made something up that sounded somewhat professional. **


	3. The Interviews

**A/N: Alright, the first chapter had a lighthearted tone to it (thanks to Stella), but the second chapter was more serious in nature (though Lindsay's letter was a little humorous in spots). Now we're back to a little lighthearted relief (thanks, once again, to Stella). Unfortunately, I don't think the chapter is as good as it should be. I plan on editing it quite a bit before posting, but I'm leaving this disclaimer up so that your expectations can drop just a smidge. **

**UPDATE: There are two sections to this chapter, divided by my little section divider. I think the second half infinitely came out better than the first half, in my own opinion. Let me know yours!**

**::~*~::**

Mac stepped off of the plane into the cool terminal. Walking to the nearest window, he looked out over the landscape. It had been a long time since he had last left the metal and glass jungle behind. He didn't take time off of work very often and this trip had been a last minute decision. He knew the lab was in Stella's safe, capable hands, though a triple homicide at a nightclub had almost caused him to cancel. Stella, ecstatic that Mac was actually taking one of his regular days off _and_ doing something with it, had, surprisingly, barred his entrance into the building that morning, stating that she was more than capable of handling the case with the team and if anything came up that made her think twice, she had him on speed dial.

He had tried twice to get past her, but the effort had proved futile. When he finally confessed that he had forgotten the file he needed, he had expected her to let him pass and, at the most, shadow him until he was back out on the street. She hadn't even given him _that_ courtesy. She had called up to one of the lab techs and had the requested file brought down. Mac had finally given up and hailed a cab to the airport.

He checked his watch. His flight had landed at eight o'clock and he wasn't due to fly out until three that afternoon. Since this had been a day trip, not expected to last overnight, he had no luggage to pick up. With a solitary file in hand, he headed straight for the exit. The wave of heat that washed over him almost caused him to turn back into the airport, but he continued on. It hadn't been quite this hot when he had left New York, but he had also left at four in the morning, catching an hour layover in Chicago.

He hailed one of the taxi cabs waiting nearby for airline travelers and gratefully ducked into the air-conditioned interior. From the time he had exited the building, to the time he got into the cab, sweat had already started pouring down his face and his back and he wondered how a state so far in the north could get so hot so early in the day. The last thing he needed was sweat stains all over his suit when he got to his first meeting.

Mac gave the driver the address and then settled back into the seat, allowing the air conditioning to flow over him, refreshing him. He shifted in his seat, trying to get a little more comfortable on the faux leather seating. The driver had mentioned it was a twenty minute drive from the airport to the lab, so Mac had no idea what he was going to do before the meeting with his Bozeman counterpart. Flipping open the file for the millionth time that day, he scanned the documents in it. Rereading the material, he already knew most of it by heart, having brought nothing more to read since he got on the plane earlier that morning, but desiring the action of doing something more than just sitting and waiting.

He was brought back to his surroundings as the cab rolled to a stop. Mac looked out at an unimpressive adobe, single-story building. The raised lettering on the outer wall proclaimed it was the Bozeman crime lab. Not wishing to reenter the heat outside, but knowing he couldn't escape it, he passed over a few bills, enough to cover the fare and a generous tip. As he was turning to exit the vehicle, he asked the driver if he knew of any good diners within walking distance.

The driver smiled and nodded, "Because you are a generous tipper, I will take you over there so that you do not need to walk in this heat. It's only two blocks away." Relieved that he hadn't opened his door yet, Mac sat back as the driver started pulling away from the curb.

Two blocks away, he was dropped off in front of a small, glass-fronted building. Walking inside, file tucked under his arm, he dropped into a booth. The taxi driver seemed to know this was a popular diner, as it took a couple of minutes for a waitress to make her way over to him.

"What can I get for ya?" she asked, pen poised over her pad.

He gave his usual coffee order and asked for a recommendation for breakfast. Five minutes later, Mac was staring at the biggest breakfast he'd ever seen before him. Eyeing the plate apprehensively, he asked the waitress if there was anywhere to buy a newspaper nearby.

"Comin' right up," she said. She ducked back behind the counter and came up with the local newspaper, winking at him before setting the paper next to his plate. Mac was grateful for something to read other than Lindsay's file, even if he didn't quite no how to respond to the waitress' wink. Finding an article that caught his interest, he started to read as he dug into his country omelette.

**::~*~::**

By the time Mac arrived back at the airport at ten to three, he had to jog all the way across the terminal to reach his gate in time. Collapsing into his seat, he took a few moments to catch his breath. A passing flight attendant gave him a sympathetic smile as she surprised him with a glass of ice water.

Once he had regained his composure, he moved around to get more comfortable in his seat before laying his head back against the headrest and resting his eyes. It had been a long day and he knew it was going to be even longer. It wasn't in his nature to go home and sleep off the jetlag, especially at three in the afternoon. He'd call Don as soon as he landed and have him create some kind of diversion to get Stella out of the lab, if she wasn't already. Who would have thought he'd ever have to sneak into his own lab?

Mac had made up his mind. He was going to offer Lindsay the job. After visiting her hometown and talking with people who knew her best, he knew that he wasn't going to find a better candidate for his team. He just needed to put a few things in order before placing the call, but he knew, without having met her, that she was the one.

His first meeting of the day had been with the head of the Bozeman crime lab, Detective Byers. It had been a very informative meeting in more ways than one. Mac had discovered more about Lindsay's character including work ethic, highlighted cases she had worked on, her presence within the community and even the tragic accident that had claimed the lives of three of her friends. Byers had even mentioned that he, himself, had been the investigator working the café case. Even though it was now officially classified as a cold case, he still went through all of the evidence and testimonies at least once a month to see if anything new jumped out at him. Mac had always wondered if he was the only one to do that. Now he knew he wasn't.

Detective Byers had even given Mac a tour of the lab. As they had been walking through, Mac had inquired after Lindsay's whereabouts, only to have Byers apologize for her absence. Mrs. Monroe had fallen quite ill during the night and had been taken to the hospital for treatment and observation. Lindsay had, understandably, gone to be with her family. Mac had needed no further explanation and he was even going to hold off on calling Lindsay in order to give her enough time to ensure her mother's recovery.

Mac had even been granted limited access to the notes and reports on the current case she was working. While he had been perusing those, he had asked Byers about the McGinty case, the notes of which Lindsay had included in her application file as her highlight case. Mac had done his own digging into the murder case and discovered that the conviction had rested primarily on Lindsay's work. When asked what he thought about Lindsay's transfer request, Byers had replied that Lindsay was the prodigy of the lab and in order for her to reach her full unrealized potential, she needed to get out of Montana.

Any bystander may have seen Byers' glowing remarks about Lindsay as heavy favoritism, but for someone like Mac, who made his living reading people and evidence, he knew that Byers only wanted the best for Lindsay, even if it took her away from his own team.

After the visit to the lab and the meeting with Byers, Mac had gone to Bozeman High School. He wanted to talk to Stacy Burnett to find out how Lindsay had coped after the deaths of her friends. On paper, her grades hadn't suffered at all. In fact, she herself had pointed out, with the necessary evidence, that she had graduated early, though with no reason why. None of that truly mattered to Mac. What he wanted to find out was how she had coped emotionally and that kind of information couldn't be found on paper. Without the ability to interview Lindsay directly, he had decided to speak with the best person to have watched and helped her through the grieving process.

He had arrived at the high school at half-past one with only one more destination afterwards. With school still in session, Mac had understood that Ms. Burnett's attention was needed elsewhere, but after stating his name and the reason for his visit, she had quickly ushered him into her office, eager to talk to him about Lindsay if it would help her get the job with his lab. Ms. Burnett had been quick to apologize to Mac in advance if her answers weren't satisfactory to him, since the incident had occurred one week prior to the school's release for summer break and it wasn't uncommon for someone in Lindsay's situation to absent themselves from classes with only one week left. What surprised Mac the most was Ms. Burnett's revelation that Lindsay _had_ attended that last week to complete her finals. Lindsay had barely managed to keep her straight-A record intact with the results of the finals, but nine years later, it would be difficult to determine whether her teachers' sympathy for her may have played a roll in their final grading.

Beyond that, Ms. Burnett wasn't able to lend much more insight into Lindsay's behavior over the summer months, other than her desire to attend summer school, from which the support staff was absent. From the information gathered from the summer school instructors at the start of the regular school year, Ms. Burnett had learned that Lindsay had withdrawn into herself, throwing every waking moment into her schoolwork and passing with flying colors. The counselor had passed it off as a way for Lindsay to keep her mind occupied so that she wouldn't have to think about her friends, but when fall had come around, she had discovered Lindsay's ulterior motive—she wanted to leave school as soon as possible. Even if she had to take after-school classes, she was determined to leave Bozeman High School at the end of the year. Initially reluctant to assist her, Ms. Burnett knew that Lindsay was going to get help from wherever she could, so Lindsay's junior year schedule was redone. She was excused from a couple of classes that were determined to be detrimental to her chosen career, she picked up two after-school classes that alternated during the week, and she enrolled for Saturday classes at the local college. When all was said and done, Ms. Burnett had managed to squeeze two years' worth of classes into one schedule.

Ms. Burnett had admitted that she didn't think Lindsay would be able to handle it, but she had had to swallow her words when Lindsay graduated a full year early. Mac had pointed out that the behavior was indicative of someone who was trying to escape a place that held bad memories for them and he was quite surprised she kept returning to Bozeman each summer to work her internship. Ms. Burnett quickly assured him that Lindsay had only wanted to escape the school, not necessarily the town.

As the bell to signal the end of class rang out at a quarter past two, Mac left Ms. Burnett's company and called a cab. The driver wasn't the same one who had dropped him off earlier, but Mac wasn't expecting him to be. Mac requested two destinations of the driver and the driver pulled away to head for the first.

Upon arriving outside the cheerful looking building, Mac had requested the driver give him five minutes. He estimated he only had that much time to spare, so he had quickly strolled up to the door. Entering the brightly lit interior, he stood just inside of the door, not searching for a seat. Instead his eyes swept over the interior, taking in the layout of the building. A waitress had asked him if he needed anything, but he had lied and said he was looking for someone he didn't see. Making a point of looking around the room, he shook his head and turned to leave.

Once back in the cab, he was whisked away to the airport, leaving the café behind in the dusty air.

**::~*~::**

**A/N: I was torn on this chapter and because of my confliction, I believe this chapter came out worse for wear. I wanted Mac to evaluate Lindsay in the her Montana setting and so I got a good portion into the chapter when I remembered that in **_**Zoo York**_**, Lindsay had never met Mac prior to her showing up at the zoo. Now I was in a dilemma. I could throw away the work I put into the chapter and start over or I could tweak it. Since there were a few elements I liked that wouldn't carry over into a different chapter, I decided to tweak it. Sorry if it was really bad. **

**Uncharacteristic of myself, I would like to enter a pity plea here. While I'm working on getting the last chapter up for this story, I would like to plead for reviews for one other CSI:NY one-shot fanfic I have posted on here. I had never written anything like it before, and I really would like to get some more feedback on it, to discover if I should try anything like it in future. The title is "Would I Have Done it Any Different?" (around 2900 words). If you feel like helping me out a little bit, it would be greatly, **_**greatly**_**, appreciated. Thank you ****so**** much!**


	4. The Call

**A/N: Last chapter! For the record, the viewpoint changed for the sake of this chapter, because I felt it would come out better this way. This chapter also started out as it's own fanfic, but I thought it would fit perfectly in here, so I decided to do just that. Alas, no Stella humor. I don't think this chapter is up to par with some of the stuff I've written, but it'll do. I think it's mainly because I can't get Lindsay just right. Even though I know she grew up in Montana, it's hard for me to write her in that setting. **

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story so far, in addition to everyone who favorited and signed up for alerts on the story. If you sent me a review that I can respond to, I just want to let you know that I do respond to all reviews personally, but I've gotten very behind in that respect. It will come, I promise.**

**::~*~::**

The cheery, afternoon sunlight was filtering through the large kitchen windows, splashing the room with light and warmth. It was a cozy feeling, standing in the ranch-style house with its country décor. She had grown up in this house and, even though she had enjoyed the benefits of living independently during her college years, she had always found herself yearning for the comfort and safety of her childhood home. No longer, though. She finally found herself hoping for something bigger than Montana.

Lindsay Monroe stared in disbelief at the phone still clutched in her hand. It had been her day off of work, which was probably for the best considering her wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression. She couldn't believe the words that had just been spoken, the words that were bouncing around her skull.

_Me?_ she thought. _He wanted_ me_?_

Over the course of the last few months, she had spent a lot of time perfecting her résumé and sending out portfolios to East Coast labs. Her supervisor, Detective Byers, had often commented on her skills while in the field and had repeatedly asked her what she was still doing slumming in the nation's Midwest. Lindsay had spent some time considering his words and had been quite nervous when she had finally shown up outside his office door one day to inquire whether his words were meant in jest or whether he really thought she could do better in a bigger lab.

To her incredible surprise, he had opted for the latter. He said she had amazing potential and she would go so much farther in a big city lab. Even though their conversation had given her the impression that he would help her if she wanted to transfer out, she still felt quite anxious when she got up the courage to ask him for reference letters.

Needless to say, she had stumbled home that day in a daze. A whole world of new possibilities had suddenly opened up to her and she had no idea where to start looking. She had kept the news from her parents, not wanting to inform them until she had a game plan to present them with.

After she had spent considerable time researching the different crime labs she could apply to, she had narrowed it down to seven possibilities that she had sent her application packet to. After that, all she could do was wait. She never lessened her efforts at the Bozeman lab, and no one had known about her possible transfer except for Byers. In her spare time, and out of sight of her co-workers, she had poured over whatever information she could glean about the cities she had applied to. She looked into rental rates, nightlife, crime rates, outdoor activities, basically everything she could possibly need to know about her future home. When all was said and done, she had set her heart on New York City or Boston.

As the days had turned into weeks, Lindsay had found herself willing the phone to ring every second of every day. A lead had come in, out of the blue, regarding the cold case murder of her friends and somehow the news had circulated among the community. Lindsay hadn't been able to go anywhere without the stares following her. She had been able to handle them much as she ever had since the day it had happened, but when she had bumped into Kristen's mother at the grocery store one day, she had finally decided enough was enough. She had never felt so uncomfortable and miserable in her life, and the entire time she had spoken with Mrs. Hartfield, she had wished she was anywhere but there. She hadn't been able to make eye contact with the woman the entire time, and it was in that moment that Lindsay realized that she couldn't stay there. She just didn't have the strength to repel the looks and the whispers anymore. She needed to go somewhere where no one knew about her past and where she could just be herself.

Finally, the day had come.

"Lindsay Monroe?" the voice on the other end of the line had asked.

"Speaking," she had replied. Not recognizing the phone number, she was curious as to who it was. With her mother's recent ill health, Lindsay wasn't as focused on anything else, otherwise, she might have suspected.

"This is Detective Mac Taylor with the New York Crime Lab." Lindsay's heart had dropped into her stomach. _This is it!_ She had thought excitedly, sitting bolt upright from where she had plopped down on the sofa. Even though she knew he couldn't see her, she still would have felt bad taking his call while in such a lazy position.

Stricken speechless by the opportunity that was bearing down on her, she had realized he was patiently waiting for her to say something, possibly to acknowledge him. "Hello, Detective Taylor. It's—" she had searched for the right words, "well, it's a pleasure to hear from you." _A pleasure? What? Am I accepting an invitation for tea?_ She had groaned mentally.

Even though the phone call had caught her off guard, she had made every attempt to remain professional while on the line, which ended up being easier said than done when conducted in the comfort of her home.

Detective Taylor had kept the call short and to the point, asking questions and giving Lindsay an overview of the lab and some details of the team she would be working with. Halfway thru the conversation, she had realized that the call had been a phone interview and a job offer rolled into one. Concluding the call, he had requested her to start in ten days' time, saying he knew it was short notice, but something had come up and he needed her to start sooner than he had originally planned.

Still holding the phone in her hand, she kept staring at it, unsure if she had just dreamt the whole thing or if it had really happened. Was she really going to New York? To live and to to work? Scrolling back thru the call history, she pulled up the details of the last call. Her eyes flitted across the 212 number and, the best part—the thirty minute timestamp.

Dropping the phone, she screamed, "MOM!" Sprinting up the stairs to where her mother was recuperating after her bout with pneumonia, she charged thru the door, not quite comprehending that it probably wasn't the best idea to startle an ill person.

Mrs. Monroe, however, took everything in graceful stride and attentively awaited her daughter's entrance. Lindsay had temporarily moved back home in order to help out around the house while her mother was healing, and Mrs. Monroe was still getting used to having her back under the same roof.

"Mom," she gasped, breathless from her leaps up the stairs. "It happened. I got a call. From New York!" She held out the silent phone as if it would suddenly spring to life and start replaying the conversation.

Despite her illness, Lindsay's mom was genuinely happy for her, wishing her all the luck in the world as she embarked on this new adventure. They spent the next few hours planning out everything for her impending relocation, even going so far as to plan a girls' shopping expedition in a few days' time. Lindsay had moved to protest, citing her mother's health, but Mrs. Monroe waved her worries away.

"Just give me a couple more days and I'll be good as new. You know I can't let you run off to New York with nothing. Besides, it gives me an excellent excuse to get out and get some fresh air and have some fun." Lindsay was about ready to object once again, but her mother held her hand up, brooking no argument. "Now why don't you go find your father and tell him the good news. You may have to ask him for Freddie's number so that you have some place to live—temporarily, of course, until you find an apartment."

Even though the prospect was not a pleasing one to her, her exuberance at going to New York was only briefly dampened by the fact that she most likely would be spending some time at Uncle Freddie's. Leaving her mother to get some rest, she descended the stairs, ready to inflict her news on another unsuspecting victim, who should be arriving home shortly.


End file.
